


Quid Pro Quo

by malchanceux



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Clarice isn't very good at the whole protective parent thing, Creepy!Hannibal, Gen, Kinda, Prompt Fill, Wee!Will, but I mean she tries, mom!Clarice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have a child."</p><p>"That's quite an assumption, Dr. Lecter. What if I told you I didn't?"</p><p>"Then I’d tell you grape flavored children’s Advil will hardly curb your fever."</p><p>Don't underestimate Hannibal Lecter's sense of smell, or just what kind of chances Clarice is willing to take to forward her career. Poor, poor Will Starling...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, Alana Bloom was actually "Alan Bloom" in the books. Just so I don't confuse anyone...
> 
> Fill for the Prompt: "(paraphrased) Clarice is Will's mom. She loves Will, but she's also extremely ambitious with her career in the FBI. While trying to get Hannibal to help with the Buffalo Bill case, Clarice ends up divulging information about her son in trade for the doctor's cooperation."
> 
> (http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2676.html?thread=4834420#cmt4834420)

             “You have a child,” Hannibal says one day. It is so out of the blue, so far off topic that Clarice has to stop and let what the doctor has just said sink in. She will not say it is panic that blooms in her chest, nor fear, but it is... not a good feeling, for Hannibal to make such a leap. She is not sure how to respond—denial, pretend he said nothing?—but her silence is answer enough. He didn’t need her to validate it anyway, he wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t sure.

            “That’s quite an assumption, Dr. Lecter,” Clarice leans back in the metal folding chair and crosses her legs. She has been talking to Hannibal for three weeks now with little to show, being sent back only because the doctor speaks little to anyone else and gave small, bread crumb leads in the Buffalo Bill case when he felt so inclined. At least with time, she’d gotten better at deflecting the _quid pro quo_ with half answers and partial truths. “What if I told you I didn’t?”

            “Then I’d tell you grape flavored children’s Advil will hardly curb your fever.”

            There is silence for a beat, two. Lecter’s sense of smell had alerted the doctor of Will’s existence then, she hadn’t tripped up per se. That was good at least. Clarice wondered where this was going, because though she had gotten better at getting Hannibal back on subject, she found when he became persistent, there was almost nothing to curb his curiosity or analytical attacks.

            “I think we should stay on topic, Dr. Lecter. You said you knew something about the Bill case.”

            “Ah yes,” Hannibal smiled, something small and sharp. Starling knew he wouldn’t part with the juicy morsel he’d managed to sink his teeth into. “Our mutual friend Bill is quite the disturbed individual, wouldn’t you say? But I think the FBI fails to see exactly how much help this young man needs. None of you seem to grasp his _modus operandi_.”

            “And you do?”

            “But of course. I have made a profile, if you will. I’m sure Jack Crawford would find this information invaluable.”

            Clarice did her best not to grind her teeth, something the doctor would most definitely find _rude._ There was a _‘but’_ at the end of that sentence, and she knew what it was.

            “Quid pro quo,” Starling said, her voice clipped. Hannibal’s lips stretched into a smile.

            “You know the rules well, Clarice.”

            She sat there for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She weighed the pros and cons of what she was about to do: trade personal information for a working profile on Buffalo Bill. The FBI needed Hannibal’s insight, that’s why Clarice had been sent there in the first place. What harm could Lecter do from within his cell? She didn’t like the idea of him even _knowing_ about Will, but if there was a chance of this info bringing Bill down…

            This could make or break her entire _career._

“…Alright,” she took a steadying breath, “So how will this work?”

            “I believe the old saying is ‘ladies first’.”

            “Why is Bill taking these women?”

            “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific, Clarice. That covers such a broad range of inquiries.”

            She bit her lip, trying to concentrate past the excitement of _finally_ getting something tangible out of Lecter. She needed to keep a level head for this.

            “Okay… What is his motivations behind taking these women?”

            “Ah, much better Starling,” Hannibal crossed his legs from where he was seated on his cot, for all intents and purposes looking like the psychiatrist he once was. “Our friend Bill has had a trying childhood—abusive parents most definitely. It has left him with a sense of self hatred, one so deep he cannot bare his own identity.”

            “So he’s taking the women to build himself a new one?”

            “Ah, ah Ms. Starling, I believe it is my turn.”

Clarice was ready to argue _(he hadn’t really answered her, had he?)_ but bit her tongue, and nodded a tentative affirmative.

            “Boy or girl?”

            Clarice was surprised by the simplicity of the question. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but that had most certainly not been it.

            “I—,” Clarice’s frown deepened. “A boy.”

            A stretch of silence.

            “I believe it is your turn, Clarice.”

            “Right, I—He skins them,” she stumbled, still unsure of Hannibal’s choice in question. She felt uneasy. “Parts of them. A different part each time. If it was just for a trophy, it’d make more sense for him to take the same section of skin from each victim, but he doesn’t. So what is so special about the skin?”

            “A persons skin says a lot about them. Where they stand on the social ladder, what kind of job they work, whether or not they are healthy. Often we affiliate softer, smoother skin with females as opposed to males. One might even go so far as to say our skin makes up the broadest part of our identity.”

            It clicked then, in Clarice’s mind. It all tied back to Bill’s sense of self hatred. These woman, they all must have shared one particular trait—something Bill needed to live out his fantasy. To trade _identities_ with them.

            Clarice looked at the doctor expectantly—it was his turn.

            “Raising a son while pursuing a career in the FBI—that’s no small feat. I suspect you’ve had many obstacles to overcome, Clarice, time management perhaps the most difficult. There wouldn’t be time in the mornings to take a child to school, most certainly not now, and last I checked there were no elementary facilities near Quantico’s FBI headquarters, not close enough for a bus at least. You live as near to the Academy as you could manage, I’m sure. He is home schooled then.”

            “He does quite well with his work, your little boy. You’d accept nothing less, and furthermore, testing is strict with homeschooled students. The state is ever conscious of their capabilities and making sure they stay up to par.”

            “Is there a question in there, Dr. Lecter?” Clarice hated the way her voice shook as she interrupted the man, hated looking so weak. But Hannibal’s monologue had left fear fluttering in her chest, she was barely restraining herself from calling the deal _off_ altogether. Every word he spoke was painfully accurate, down to the homeschooling, and _why_ she had gone that route, even if he was missing a small, but critical piece. She wasn’t sure why this surprised her—his analytical attacks were always so damned _accurate_ and scarily _detailed._

“Apologies, Clarice,” Hannibal said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. If anything, he was unabashedly smug. “How is the father?”

            Clarice pinched her lips into a thin line, caging down the wave of anger that washed over her whenever she even _thought_ about Will’s dad.

            “I wouldn’t know,” she answered stiffly, “Alive at least, since I’m still getting child support.”

            “An absence in both you and your son’s life. By choice, I assume.”

            “I believe it’s _my turn_ , Dr. Lecter.”

            A small smile gracing his features, Hannibal bowed his head in acquiesce.

            “Frederica Bimmel was the third body found and tied back to Buffalo Bill, but forensics says decomposition pegs it more likely for her to have been his first or second victim. He didn’t just dump her like the others, he weighed her body with rocks so it’d sink to the bottom of the river. Why? Why is Bimmel different?”

            “Though I am gifted at psychoanalysis, I’m afraid even I can only guess at that. Perhaps Bimmel was special, stood out amongst the others somehow, or maybe Bill was just more cautious with her corpse because it was his first time. Nerves pushed him to overkill.”

            “What happened to _quid pro quo_ , an even trade of information? That’s all speculation and theories that have already been thrown around.”

            “Perhaps it is you who should endeavor in better questions.”

            Clarice suppressed a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t report back to Jack about telling Hannibal _so much_ personal information with nothing to show for it. She had a good start to a profile, but nowhere near enough to outweigh what she’d given Lecter.

             “I purpose a change to our deal, Dr. Lecter.”  

             “Oh?” Hannibal hummed interestedly, leaning forward and straightening from his relaxed position. The subtle shift changed the atmosphere from passive to predator/prey with barely any effort on the doctor’s part. Clarice felt goose flesh prickle up her arms, but steeled herself against the man’s mind tricks, “Do share.”

             “I tell you something about my son I think you’ll find interesting, and in return you give me a complete profile on Buffalo Bill.”

             “That hardly seems like a fair trade of information.”

             “You haven’t heard what I have to say.”

             Hannibal’s expression cut off then, the previously dangerous smile melting away from his lips, instead replaced by an eerie blank slate. He was mulling her words over, curious but unsure if she was trying to play him. Clarice would have, if she thought she could get away with it. His close analysis _now_ was exactly why she wouldn’t try to pull the wool over his eyes. She simply wasn’t capable of it, not now. Maybe not ever.

             “I am curious to know what you think I would find so interesting as to trade over an entire profile.”

             “Is that a ‘yes’?”

             Hannibal did not answer right away, and instead studied Starling with piercing eyes.

             “What if I told you men like Dr. Chilton would kill to be in your position right now?”

             “Men like Fredrick Chilton are insufferable swine.”

             “What about men like Dr. Alan Bloom?”

             This perked Hannibal’s interest just as Clarice knew it would. Once upon a time Alan Bloom studied under Lecter, and Starling knew Hannibal regarded the man highly in academics.

             “Now that _is_ promising.”

             “So do we have a deal?” Hannibal was quiet again, but slowly the blank expression softened. A minute upward twitch of lips and crinkling at the eyes made up the doctor’s approachable person suit. It was as good a yes as any.

            “Indeed I believe we do,” the doctor said, sitting back, relaxed as before. The sharp look in his eyes gave his curiosity away. “Ladies first.”

            Clarice paused for a moment, unsure of what to say exactly. Perhaps a part of her hadn’t thought Hannibal would agree to her terms. She took another steadying breath, and started where she thought would make the most sense.

            “When my son was six I went to pick him up from his kindergarten class. Parent pick up usually took place at the playground. Normally, I’d be a little later than most parents because of the Academy’s hours, but traffic was surprisingly sparse and I made good time. When I got there, I noticed him all by himself. There were kids running around playing games with each other, but not him. Of course the teachers had told me before that my son didn’t quite get along with the others, but he never acted out, so I hadn’t been too concerned. But seeing him in self-imposed isolation made me worry.”

            “I asked him later that evening why he hadn’t been playing with any of his friends. He told me he didn’t have any. The next day I made it a point to call the school during my lunch break and ask if he had problems with bullies. The teachers said he didn’t, but also said that he didn’t have any friends either. My son never made an effort to talk to the other students, and they never bothered him. I didn’t know what to do, and he wouldn’t talk to me about it. I started looking up child psychologist’s in my free time.”

            “One of my teachers said something to me, said I’d been distracted from classes, which was unusual. I told him about my son, and he said that if I were okay with it, he’d do a cursory session with him to make sure I didn’t spend money I didn’t have on something my son didn’t need. That teacher was Dr. Alan Bloom.”

            Clarice remembered that day well. She had been so embarrassed that Bloom had noticed something wrong, even more so when he offered to talk to Will. She’d said yes anyway. How could she refuse? She really couldn’t afford to waste the cash.

            “Dr. Bloom scheduled a meeting that same week. My son seemed to like him well enough, but as soon as I said anything about him talking to the doctor, he clamed up. Just like he had when I asked him about school. I didn’t think Dr. Bloom’s session was going to work, but he’d insisted on trying. I came back to get my son an hour and a half later to find him scribbling away with crayons and Bloom with pages of notes beside him. To me that… didn’t seem like a good thing, and it wasn’t, really.”

            Clarice cleared her throat, recrossed her legs, and sat up a little straighter. She could tell by the intent stare Hannibal was giving her that she had his full attention. He was interested, intrigued even. She hoped it was enough for him to give her what she wanted.

            “Dr. Bloom took me aside and said “Starling, what your son has is pure empathy”. I had no idea what he was talking about. He was too empathetic? What did that have to do with anything? Of course I’m sure you already know, Dr. Lecter, but Bloom went on to explain that perception is a tool sharp on both ends. He said that my son could assume the point of view of the people around him, said it was an _‘uncomfortable gift’._ My son wasn’t playing with the other kids because he couldn’t stay out of their heads. He was too young to understand what he was doing, and avoided what seemed to be the problem out of self-preservation, even if he didn’t realize it.”

            “He prescribed the homeschooling then,” Hannibal said, standing slowly.

            “Yes, if only for a few years,” Clarice tracked the doctor with her eyes, watched as he steadily approached the glass barrier. He stopped just feet from it, seemingly at his own accord. Even now he did not acknowledge his cage, made himself seem so aimless and free. He did not carry himself like a man imprisoned for life. “Now, I believe our deal was an even trade in information. The profile?”

            “Yes, of course, but before that, what is your son’s name?” Hannibal asked, peering down at Clarice with maroon flecked eyes.

            “I left it out for a reason, Dr. Lecter.”

            “Ah but you have already told me so much, what harm could his name do?”   

            Clarice gave him a stern look, lips thinned and jaw clenched. “Quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter.”

            Hannibal regarded her with a shallowly amused look, smiling. He stepped away from the glass and sat down at his small writing desk.

            “I think it would be best if I wrote up the profile, don’t you Clarice? It will help keep my thoughts in order, and will relieve you of the stress of having to recount it all by memory alone.”

            She fought grinding her teeth again as frustration ran through her veins. This was retaliation for her keeping Will’s name a secret.

            “That wasn’t part of our deal, Dr. Lecter.”

            “Good things to those who wait, Clarice, and I never said _how_ I would give you Buffalo Bill’s profile. I am sure Chilton will be all too pleased to send it to Quantico when I am finished.”

            She almost argued the point, but knew better than to voice her agitation. This was just Hannibal ending things on his own terms—he’d keep his word, she was sure. It’d be rude not to.

            Suppressing a sigh, Clarice stood from her chair. She could read Hannibal’s body language well enough by now, and knew talking to the doctor any longer would lead to either a ripping analysis into her personal life, or idle small talk until she left. He was done with her for the day, and she couldn’t possibly hope to get much more out of _him._

            As the _click, click, click_ of her heels followed Starling down the hall, Hannibal got to work on the profile with his felt tipped pen, Buffalo Bill far from his thoughts, and a young Starling’s ailment fresh on his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who read the original prompt, I'm not sure if I'll do the rest or leave it here. *shrugs*


End file.
